I had fallen into the company
of a raving madman, or of some driveling idiot. By Thomas Guthrie. The heavens declare the glory
of God. The skies proclaim the work of
His hands. Day after day they pour forth
speech. Night after night they display
knowledge. There is no speech or language
where their voice is not heard. Their voice goes out into all
the earth, their words to the ends of the world. Psalm 19,
verses 1-4 The existence of God can be clearly
seen in nature. I do not need to open the Bible
to learn that. It is enough that I open my eyes
and turn them on that great book of nature where it stands legibly
written, distinctly revealed in every page. God, that word
may be read in the stars and on the face of the sun. It is
painted on every flower, traced on every leaf, engraved on every
rock, whispered by the winds, sounded forth by the billows
of the ocean, and may be heard by the dullest ear in the long
rolling thunder. I believe in the existence of
a God, but not in the existence of an atheist, or that any man
is so, who can be considered to be in his sound and sober
senses. What would we think of one who
attempted to account for any other works of beauty and evident
design, as the atheist professes to do for the works of God? Here
is a classic temple. Here stands a statue, designed
with such taste and executed with such skill, that one almost
expects the marble to leap from its pedestal. Here hangs a painting
of some dead beloved one, so lifelike as to move our tears. Here, in the Iliad, or Paradise
Lost, is a noble poem, full of the grandest thoughts and clothed
in sublimest imagery. Here is a piece of most delicate,
intricate, and ingenious mechanism. Well, let a man seriously tell
me that these were the work of chance. Let him tell me, when
I ask who made them, that nobody made them. Let him tell me that
the arrangement of the letters in this poem, of the colors in
that picture, and of the features in the statue, was a matter of
mere chance. how I would stare in astonishment
at him and conclude without a moment's hesitation that I had fallen
into the company of a raving madman or of some driveling idiot. Turning away from such atheistic
ravings about the infinitely more glorious works of God, With
what delight does reason listen? And with what readiness does
she assent? And with what distinct and hearty
voice does she echo the closing words of the seraphim's hymn?
Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty. The whole earth is
full of His glory. Isaiah 6, verse 3. the stupendous
fabric of creation, Jan Stary Valt. This magnificent world
were the work of the hands by which, in love of you, Jesus
hung a mangled form on the cross of Calvary.